The Ribbon Above
by J.S. Fortner
Summary: Hear about the fabled Mobius One from a soldier who had his feet on the ground and who was literally always looking up to him. First Ace Combat fic, please review.Better ending, bit of foreshadowing. Complete.
1. The Interview

Sadly, I do not own any of this. Any original characters are based off of a copyrighted product and therefore are subject to those same copyright laws.

Also, this is my first Ace Combat fic. I am a huge fan of the games, and I decided to try my hand at writing a decent story. I'm pretty well known for doing many of my stories from unexpected viewpoints in their respective universes, so I decided to hold onto that.

The Ribbon Above

An Ace Combat story by Jerrod Fortner

"Yeah, I fought in the one year war. It was a rough time, but we made it through. I guess tank jocks are just as tough as our machines, eh? The only people who were worse off were the fly boys. They were the ones who had to deal with Stonehenge, and then that damned Megalith incident. But, a good few of them came through it in one piece. And there was this one pilot, flew like a madman and fought like a demon. His call sign was Mobius One, but we all knew him as "The Ribbon". And the Erusians knew him by another name: The Grim Reaper."

The old soldier rocked back in his chair and laughed at the old memory. He was cut off by a sudden coughing fit, and then he reached into his shirt pocket and retrieved a cigar.

"You want one? No? Suit yourself, but you're missing out."

There was a low hiss as he lit a match, and then the acrid smell of the smoke filled my nostrils. I shifted slightly and looked down at my notebook. It was still the top of the page, so I estimated another two hours with the man would give me the information I needed.

"Mister Svenson, could you tell me what you remember of Mobius One, starting from the first day you saw him?"

"Of course, of course. I was already a captain in the armored divisions of the ISAF army. I'd served for quite a while; don't really remember how long now. It was the attack on the Erusian Aegir Fleet, the so-called "Invincible Fleet"…

"All tanks move up. Form into pairs and take each street. Train your guns on any runaway Erusian soldiers. Remember, don't fire unless they attack. We're the good guys."

Reginald Svenson replaced the radio and smiled as the wind whipped by his face. The M1A2 Abrams rumbled like a contented cat underneath his feet, and the sounds of nearby explosions soothed him. He could smell burning fuel in the air, and he silently congratulated the pilots up above.

He turned as he heard a shout of surprise, and he looked up as a large shadow passed over him. It was an F-22 being tailed by two F-14s. There was a barely audible screech as one of the F-14s fired a twin set of missiles. Svenson prayed that the ISAF pilot would doge the volley, and he clutched a set of rosary beads that were in his vest pouch. He nearly passed out when the F-22 banked hard left, knowing the pressure that kind of maneuver exerted. The F-22 flew behind a set of buildings and the F-14s failed to follow.

With a buzzing roar, the F-22 reappeared, its machine gun ripping into the rear of one of the F-14s. The plane spiraled out of control and slammed into the water of the harbor a few seconds later. Svenson hadn't seen a parachute.

He quickly turned his attention back to the dogfight now taking place between the F-22 and the F-14. Svenson watched in amazement as the two planes spun and dove in almost synchronized harmony. He watched as the F-22 suddenly stalled, and a lump developed in his throat.

"No, it can't end like that…"

The F-22 continued to lose altitude, until it looked like certain doom for the pilot. Miraculously, he pulled out of the dive and came up under the F-14.

"Impossible! That pilot should be dead by now!"

But Svenson watched as the miracle pilot tore the second F-14 open with a single missile, and then did a barrel roll for show. He had never seen anything like that, and he knew he would never forget.

"Captain, Sir. There's a broadcast on the radio, you might want to hear it."

Svenson picked up his handset and listened. He felt his heart swell with pride as the pilots broadcast their special message.

"They were singing the Hymn of Liberty, Usea's anthem."

He cleared his throat and began to sing the anthem in his bass voice.

"O'er azure skies and emerald plains

Where freedom and justice prevail

With courage and strength

We'll fight to the end

For liberty in our land."

Captain Svenson wiped away a tear and smiled at me through his scraggly beard, his pride in his country mixing with the pain of buried memories.

"That Mobius 1, he was damn good at flying. The best I ever saw. I just wish I could have met him in person."

He stood up, limping slightly with his prosthetic leg, and he shook my hand. It wholly encircled mine, and he pumped it vigorously.

"You come back tomorrow, and I'll tell you more on The Ribbon."

I nodded and picked up my cap, then turned and walked out into the cold rain of the Usean fall.


	2. Bad Memories

"Back again, I see. I figured you would want to hear more for your little writing project. Well, come in, come in. You'll catch your death out there in the cold."

I thanked Captain Svenson and stepped inside the house. It was warm and cozy, and a fire was going. A pot of stew was cooking over the fire, and Captain Svenson's collie was curled up by the hearth.

"You look chilled to the bone, boy. Would you like a cup of coffee? It's fresh brewed."

I nodded and thanked the good Captain once again, then removed by notebook out of my waterproof pouch. I took out my lucky pen as well and chewed on the end of it for a few seconds.

The Captain quickly returned with the coffee and other assortments on a silver tray. I found it odd that a former tank commander would be so polite to someone he barely knew. I questioned him about it after my coffee had been fixed to my liking: black with two lumps of sugar.

"Well lad, after the war my wife, God rest her soul, broke me of the military mumbo jumbo. No longer was I an officer and a commander, I simply became my wife's errand boy."

He laughed at the memory, but I could see a twinge of regret in his eye. I quickly did what I do best: I asked questions.

"Mr. Svenson-"

"There's no reason to be so formal, lad. We're friends now, so you can call me Reginald."

I smiled and continued.

"Reginald, when was the next time you saw Mobius one in action?"

Reginald rubbed his leg absentmindedly, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"If you don't want to, Reginald, I can understand…"

No lad, it's fine. Just some bad memories. Just let me get out a cigar. Let's see now… Ahh, yes, Operation Bunker Shot…


	3. Operation Bunker Shot

"Where's our air support, dammit?! We can't even move up! How the hell are we supposed to establish a beachhead if-"

Reginald winced as a high pitched squeal filled the interior of the Abrams. He knew that the speaker had been killed, the tank instantly destroyed by ordnance fire. He ordered situation report from AWACS and sighed in relief when he received the news of the approaching ISAF fighters.

"This is Captain Svenson to all ISAF tank units. Hold your ground; do not give them an inch without making them pay through the nose. The air support is almost here. And pound those damn bunkers, for the love of God!"

The chatter of machine guns and the hiss of rocket fire drowned out the comm chatter for a few seconds as a lone F-22 arrived and began to mow down the opposing forces on the beach. Reginald seized the opportunity and grabbed his comm.

"All tanks, charge, charge while they have their heads down!"

Reginald's tank, affectionately named the _Malleus Dei_, the Hammer of God, reared upward as it moved forward. Reginald viewed the battlefield and ordered his gunner to fire on a pillbox left untouched by the Ribbon's attack. The tank continued to move even as it fired, and the HEAT round punched through and leveled the pillbox as its warhead detonated inside.

Cheers sounded over the comm as the tanks pushed over out of the sand and into fresh grass. The cheers quickly turned into yells of surprise as one of the advancing Abrams exploded into flame.

"A-Tens! Get the tanks into cover! Oh God, they're gonna rip us apart! Run, run get out of the tanks!"

Reginald cursed under his breath and was about to send out a message when a low drone caught his attention. Several hundred holes then appeared in the side of the tank, and it stopped moving. Reginald attempted to talk to the driver, but there was no reply. He cursed and opened the hatch above him, then climbed out of the disabled tank. He rallied the surviving members of his crew and they began to move towards another tank, which detonated in a fiery explosion. A plate of the tanks armor flew off and severed Reginald's leg off at the knee. He collapsed into the sand and looked up at the sky as he began to bleed out. He saw the smoking form of an A10 Thunderbolt II begin its death throes as it slowly fell to the earth, and he watched as the infamous F-22 flew over. Reginald passed out with the knowledge that the A10s would die.


	4. The Aftermath

"I woke up a few hours later in a hospital truck. Normally, that would have been it for a soldier, but they needed every man they could get. They gave me a top of the line prosthetic and sent me back out to the fight."

I finished writing in my notebook, and then I looked at him. The cigar was down to its end, and Reginald reached for his ashtray to put it out. He went into a coughing fit, and I looked around, unsure what to do. He finished up and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small bottle of oxygen and inhaled from it. He smiled when he had put the bottle away and said, "Too many good cigars, lad. Small price to pay, I think."

I nodded, but in my heart, I felt sad for him. He was killing himself, but he didn't even mind. I guess when you see your friends killed in war, your own death isn't a problem.

I stood and shook his hand, then turned to the door. As I twisted the knob, Reginald said, "Lad, would you do an old man a favor?

I turned towards him and answered, "Of course, Reginald."

"Find the Ribbon. Find him and tell him of all the things he did for us ground pounders during the war."

I smiled and said, "When I find him, Reginald, I'll make sure you can tell him yourself."

He gave a half-hearted chuckle, and then it was silent as I left his home.


	5. A Call in the Night

A phone call at one in the morning woke me up the next day. I rolled out of bed and went into the kitchen of my one bedroom apartment, and quickly picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello, this is Doctor Jeffrey Wallace, at North Clearing Hospital. I'm calling on behalf of my patient, Reginald Svenson. He would like to speak to you."

"Is he alright? Well, I mean, what is his condition?"

"He's stable, for now, but his lungs are severely damaged. He has about another week, tops."

"Thank you, tell him I'll be right there."

I hung up and got dressed, then quickly got my writing materials together. When I was ready, I climbed into my junker of a car and took off, going ten miles per hour over the speed limit the whole way there.

When I entered his room, I saw Reginald, but at the same time, I saw a whole different person. His body had wasted away in the few hours since I had seen him, and tubes protruded from all over his body. An oxygen mask was strapped to his face and head, and it fogged when he breathed out. An audible wheeze could be heard from the respirator beside him every time it pumped precious oxygen into his body. But his eyes, they were as sharp and clear as ever, despite the pain medication he was being pumped full of.

"Hey there, lad. Good to see you still care about this old fossil. Pull up a chair, have a seat. I've got to finish my story up for you, don't I?"

"Reginald, you don't have to if-"

"Oh, but I do lad, I do." He wheezed and coughed for a full minute before he could speak again. "Let me tell you about the battle of San Salvacion…"


	6. San Salvacion

The roads leading in to San Salvacion seemed to be crammed with the burned-out husks of enemy tanks and anti-aircraft vehicles. The Abrams handled it easily, pushing the vehicles out of the way with its dozer blades. Reginald rubbed his leg, or what was left of it, and peered through the smoke of the numerous fires that had sprouted up. It was dark outside, a result of the blackout initiated by the Erusians to prevent air forces from being effective. The green of the night vision gave a strange look to everything, but Reginald was thankful for that piece of equipment. He shrank back as the screen whited out, and he stuck his head out of the hatch. He smiled when he saw that the blackout had been ended. His smiled widened when an enemy tank rolled out of its cover, unaware of his tank.

"Gunner, fire at will."

"Yes, Sir!"

The tank rocked as it fired, and Reginald had barely ducked back into the hatch when it went off. The enemy tank went up in a fireball, and Reginald whooped in joy as he saw the fuel detonate, further ripping it apart.

Reginald caught a flash of the Ribbon's F-22 as it passed overhead, followed by hundreds of tracer rounds from a nearby AA gun. Reginald followed the tracers back to the point of origin and saw the mobile AA gun.

"Turn seventy-five degrees right and target that AA gun!"

The tank boomed once more, and the AA vehicle came to a halt. Reginald watched as the crew jumped out, and he laughed as the city's citizens attacked and beat them.

"All ground forces, this is Brigadier General Masters. The city is ours!"

Reginald pumped his fist and yelled in joy, but a garbled message made him stop. He focused in on the frequency and realized it was coming from AWACS. His eyes widened in fear when he heard mentions of B-2s. Reginald quickly crossed himself and said a quick prayer for the pilots as the citizens cheered for their liberators. He envied them the fact that they had no idea what was coming. He looked toward the sky and caught a brilliant flash of orange light. He wasn't sure if it was the Ribbon or the enemy aircraft, but he hoped for the latter.

He caught a fleeting glimpse of an F-22 as it flew overhead, and he saluted it as the celebrations continued.


	7. A Favor

I wrote down the last few lines and looked up at Reginald. He had already fallen fast asleep, and I set my notebook to the side and stood up. I walked out of the room to a payphone just outside the door. I put in fifty cents and dialed the number I needed, and then waited for a few seconds as the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"It's me. He's dying. Do you think you could do it tomorrow?"

"Absolutely. He saved my life at San Salvacion."

"So I've heard. So, what time?"

"I'll do it at four"

"Alright. Thank you so much, Mobius."

"No thanks needed. It's an honor to be able to make his last days comfortable."

I hung up and entered the room, then fell asleep in the chair. When I woke up again, Reginald was watching television. It was a news report, but I didn't pay much attention to it. He was holding my notebook and looking through it.

"Heh, you did it word for word. Most writers misquote old soldiers like me. Good to know you're different."

He handed the notebook back to me, along with a pen from his bedside table. It was an old fountain pen, colored a deep maroon. It had the initials R.S.II inscribed in the side, and it looked ancient, though well cared for.

"That was my sons, before he went off to fight for Yuktobania in the last war. His plane was shot down by a man they call 'Blaze'. I want you to have it, as a gift from a cantankerous old man."

"Reginald, I could never-"

"Oh posh, lad. Just take the damn thing. It's worth a pretty penny if you were ever hard up for cash. You've been a good friend to me, lad, in my last few weeks. You deserve at least that much.

I looked down at the pen and my vision blurred. I quickly bit my lip and put the pen on the table, then retrieved my own and opened my notebook.

"Reginald, do you have any other stories?"

He nodded and smiled, then coughed once to clear his throat.

"I wasn't present at the Whiskey Corridor, but I was lucky enough to fight in the siege of Farbanti. We had advanced under constant fire…"


	8. The Siege of Farbanti

"We have incoming enemy vehicles, Captain. Reports indicate twenty Main Battle Tanks and numerous anti-aircraft and anti-armor vehicles. They've pulled out all the stops, Sir."

Reginald nodded and peered through the light fog, watching as an ISAF armored column rolled through a parallel street. The grind of the treads was the only sound that broke the stillness of the sector, and Reginald felt the hair on his neck stand on end. He could pick up a familiar whirring sound, but he couldn't tell from where. It was the way the fog seemed to part that tipped him off.

"Apaches! Train your guns on the choppers!"

An explosion sent a wash of heat up Reginald's back as the Stryker behind his Abrams ignited. He turned in time to see several soldiers crawl out, burning but still alive. He knew there was nothing he could do for them except get revenge. He quickly sighted the main gun on the nearest chopper and gave the order to fire. He felt a thrill of satisfaction as the HEAT round tore the murderous aircraft in twain. The thrill turned in to horror as he saw one of the rotor blades spin off and come straight for the Abrams. He ducked and covered his head a split second before the blade cut through the air above him and impaled itself in the tank with a groan of tortured metal.

"Captain, are you alright, Sir?"

Reginald sat up and cleared his throat, then keyed his radio.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Hayes. What's the damage?"

"The engines gone. One in a million hit, one in a million chance the damn jet fuel didn't ignite. Needless to say sir, we gotta bail, we're sitting ducks."

"Fine. Hand out the weapons to the crew and meet me by the building at two o'clock. Grab a rifle for me as well; I don't have anything but an M9 right now."

Reginald stood and leapt from the commander's hatch, landing awkwardly on his neo prosthetic leg, then limped to a bombed out shell of a building. He heard footsteps coming behind him and he whistled, which was answered. He looked over at Hayes and smiled at the twenty year old gunner as he reached out for an offered M4A1. Hayes was followed by the driver, Goldman, who was helping support the ammo man, Fredericks. Reginald saw that Fredericks' left leg was mangled, but he paid it no mind. He didn't need details on wounds, he needed a ride out.

"Alright lads, here's the deal. I'll head out first and clear the way, and then you three come through with Hayes pulling up the rear, understood?"

Reginald listened to their affirmations, then turned and limped through an alley, where he caught an Erusian by surprise. Reginald put a round through the man's throat, then moved up and went prone to provide cover. He heard the others move up and settle down behind him, and then he stood and moved around a corner. He sighed in relief when he saw an Abrams flying the ISAF flag moving down the street, followed by a Stryker APC. He stepped out and placed his rifle on the ground and waved his arms over his head. The Abrams' turret turned towards him menacingly, then turned back and the tank moved toward him. The commander of the Abrams stood up out of his hatch and smiled, then ordered the Abrams to a halt.

"Reginald, where's your tank?"

"Don't ask. What's the room in that Stryker back there?"

"She's essentially empty, using her to round up captured Erusians, but you can get inside. I'll have the prisoners moved to the other APCs."

Reginald nodded and climbed inside the waiting Stryker after the prisoners had been moved. He donned a headset an made small talk with John for several minutes.

"Hey Reggie? What are you going to do now that the war's over?"

"I'm going home, Johnny Boy. I've got a nice pension and disability benefits waiting to be spent on a new house."

"I hear you. Hey, the Ribbons hailing us! Listen to this."

The comm was silent for a few seconds, and then a deep, soft voice reverberated through the headset Reginald was wearing.

"Men and women of the ISAF military, this is Mobius One. I want to congratulate you on winning this war. Your dedication has proven stronger than the enemy's force of arms. Thank you."


	9. The Ribbon Above

Reginald sat back in the bed and closed his eyes, and I could tell he was drained from telling the story. When he opened his eyes again, the sparkle was gone, and I knew his time was near. I looked at my watch and saw that it was four in the afternoon. I reached out and took his hand and said, "Reginald, look out the window. I have a surprise for you."

He hit the button to sit up and looked out at the still bright sky. His eyes widened as he heard the faint sounds of an approaching aircraft. He looked at me and smiled, then turned back to the window. An F-22 drew intricate contrails as it twirled and danced in the skies outside of the hospital. Reginald laughed feebly and laid his head back. As he closed his eyes for the last time, I could hear him whisper three words: "The Ribbon above."


	10. Epilogue

As I was putting the finishing touches on my book, I could feel a great sense of unease coming over me, palpable in the air as an oppressive weight. I could not shake the feeling that something big was heading my way, but I couldn't tell what it was. Distractedly, I took out the pen Reginald had given me and looked at it.

"It's not as if you can help me out, right?"

I laughed at the craziness of it all as I twirled the pen between my fingers. I stopped as the doorbell rang, and I quickly stood to answer it.

When I opened the door, there was a man in a heavy trench coat, soaked from head to toe by the storm outside. He looked at me and said, "Mister Fortner?"

I nodded and replied, "What do you need, sir?"

"My name is Reginald Svenson, Junior. May I come in?"

I ushered the soaked man in and took his coat, then set a pot of coffee brewing. I didn't know if he liked tea or coffee better, but, being from the southern region of Osea, I went with the coffee.

"My father. You knew him well, from what I hear."

I looked over at him and nodded.

"He was a good man, a kind person. He will be sorely missed, Reginald."

"Call me Reggie." It was a command, not a request. I could tell he was used to giving orders. I turned to the coffee pot and made sure it had gotten started, and then I moved into the living room and sat in my easy chair, opposite the couch Reggie occupied.

"Reggie, your father told me you had been killed, yet you stand before me. What happened?"

"When I was shot down, I was able to eject, but something happened. My parachute was screwed up and I ended up hitting the ground hard. When I woke up, I was in a hospital with no recollection of whom or where I was. I underwent therapy for three years to try and remember everything. When I finally got my memory back, I checked in on my father, but he had already passed. Someone told me to talk to you, so here I am."

I nodded and stood up, then retrieved the pen from my work desk, then, as an afterthought, I picked up another pen and my notebook. I walked back to Reggie and handed him the pen. He turned it over in his hand as tears welled up in his eyes.

"My father gave this to me when I turned sixteen, after he got back from the war. Thank you, thank you so much."

I nodded and sat back down in my recliner. I picked up the notebook and chewed the end of my pen.

"Reggie, may I ask you something?"

He looked up at me and said, "Go ahead."

"I have a contract for this book your father helped me so much with. In his memory, I would like to give you forty percent of what I make off of it, under one condition: You have to tell me about your part in the Circum-Pacific War."

He smiled and relaxed on the couch as he looked up at the ceiling.

"I remember that the skies were perfectly clear when I fought for the first time…"

_**END**_


End file.
